


on honour and lack thereof

by wave_of_sorrow



Category: A-Team (2010)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 01:12:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/628623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wave_of_sorrow/pseuds/wave_of_sorrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Baghdad, Morrison and Pike have a talk about Hannibal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	on honour and lack thereof

**Author's Note:**

> This a tiny little thing I wrote fairly quickly, but I'm irrationally fond of it so I'm putting it up here.

“We’re not gonna get away with this, you know,” Morrison says, and pours more whiskey into his glass.

“Jesus fuck,” Pike says, rolling his eyes. “Will you stop being so worried? We made it. Smith and his team are out of the picture. All that’s left to do is get rich and disappear.”

“You would think that, wouldn’t you?” Morrison says, and it’s hard to tell in the dim light of the kitchen but it looks like he’s actually smiling.

“What’s that?” Pike asks, dropping down into the chair opposite him and grabbing the bottle of whiskey.

“That they’re out of the picture,” Morrison clarifies, twisting his glass on the tabletop in slow, stuttering circles. “They won’t give up that easily. Not when they know you’re still out there.”

“Well, what are they gonna do about it,” Pike says, taking a long swallow straight from the bottle and pulling a face.

“That was always your weak spot, Pike,” Morrison tells him, and Pike’s brows shift questioningly. “Your pride.”

“My pride?” he scoffs.

“Oh, yes,” Morrison says, eyes narrowing when Pike takes another drink from the bottle. “You’re so full of yourself that you can’t even imagine anyone still giving a fuck about bullshit concepts like honour and justice.”

“Honour?” Pike echoes, mocking. “Justice? Really, old man?”

Morrison shrugs. “I don’t believe in them anymore than you do. But Hannibal? He’s a whole other story.”

“So, what?” Pike says, unimpressed. “Smith’s been this close,” he holds the thumb and forefinger of one hand barely an inch apart, “to getting thrown out on his ass for as long as I can remember. The only reason they didn’t shelve him was because you had his back. How’s he gonna convince anyone to help him on this? Because he sure as hell can’t do it alone.”

Morrison huffs out a laugh, and it is mocking. “Don’t be fucking naïve, son. He’s Hannibal Smith and they’re his boys.”

“They’re also, in case you’ve forgotten, in maximum security prisons,” Pike says, setting the whiskey back on the table and getting up.

“The prison that can hold Hannibal hasn’t been built yet,” Morrison says, and there’s resignation in his voice. “He’ll get out and then he’ll come after you, whatever it takes.”

“Never had him pegged as the type to wage a vendetta,” Pike says, and Morrison snorts.

“He’s not. Peck and Baracus, they’re the ones who’ll want to see blood,” he says, and his smile is grim. “Hannibal? He just wants his justice. He doesn’t care if they throw him back behind bars once this is over, as long as he’s got the plates and his men are safe.”

“Hate to break it to you, but Smith’s code of honour is a little out-dated,” Pike says, grinning unkindly. “The rules have changed since he started playing this game.”

“See, that’s exactly your problem,” Morrison says, morbidly amused. “Hannibal doesn’t give a fuck. He plays by nobody’s rules except his own and he will bring you down no matter how long it takes or how much it costs. Because you took the one thing that truly matters to him.”

“And what would that be?” Pike asks, and what little patience he might have had is fast dwindling.

“His team,” Morrison says, and it’s met with a derisive grimace. “You’d think you’d know better than to scoff; you’ve seen what he’s done for them all these years. Keeping them out of trouble and in the army when all other commanding officers had just wanted to see them gone.” He drains the last of the whiskey from his glass. “They were all messed up when they came to him; angry and lost and completely fucking useless. None of them had it in them to be great before he _made_ them great. They most likely would’ve gotten their asses blown up a long time ago if it weren’t for him.”

“Is there a moral to this story or are you just gonna keep talking?” Pike asks, making a show of checking his watch.

“That’s the difference between men like you and Hannibal,” Morrison says, and it’s unkind now. “He wouldn’t betray those boys for anything. And he won’t let this one go, either.”

“Didn’t he learn everything he knows from you?” Pike asks, and his smile is cruel.

“What’s your point?” Morrison asks, fingers tightening around his glass.

“Well,” Pike says, shrugging, “you betrayed him. Didn’t you?”

Morrison smiles, and it’s a humourless, ugly thing in the dark room. “Like I said, that’s the difference.”


End file.
